Slave ROMA
by Einmanaleiki
Summary: To sum it up takes a lot of space, but I can tell you that it will have a lot of blood, horror, and angst in it. Mousse revisits his horrible past at a vivisection laboratory where they use human test subjects for their cruel and sadistic ways. He and a cast of others are trapped in a government conspiracy. And the only way out is through certain gory death. Who will survive?
1. Part 1: Fever Nightmare

Slave R.O.M.A

A/N:I did a rewrite of this, because honestly, the first one SUCKED. It will have minor language throughout R.O.M.A, a lot in the very gory scenes. (They will be there. This is just the beginning) It's a phychological horror. The rating is for later scenes. You'll see. The cover photo belongs to it's creator.

So sit back, (try to) relax, and skip past the boring Author's note and get the real story. P.S, This first part in in Mousse's POV. He's the main character here, at least for this part.

KEY:

'TEST'= Thinking, sometimes illusions that nonliving objects are speaking

"TEST"= Talking

I do not own any Ranma characters and never will.

SLAVE R.O.M.A

BOOK 1: THE ABDUCTION

About suffering they were never wrong,  
The Old Masters; how well, they understood  
Its human position; how it takes place  
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along... _Cujo_

It was the great, wheezing gasps, and the hypnotic, slurred beeping that drove me from the never-ending black chasm of which I was trapped in before _They_ awakened me. There was a loud ringing in my now sensitive, aching ears. It hurt. It burned, and it tore.

I opened my eyes in an effort to see what was around me, and the source of all this pain. I was greeted by a white hot, flashing light that made me react quickly by snapping my eyes shut. Never had I seen anything so bright. Was I dead?

'Yes. I am dead. I _am_ dead. Iamdead Iamdead IamdeadIamdead.' The machines sang to me, responding to my question, speaking in their machine language, so stiff and hard in it's own words and way.

I began to open my eyes again, yet this time slower so that I could get used to the surrounding light.

My pupils shrunk and eyes strained as I leisurely, pain still stinging, torture to my eyes, began to adjust to the the blinding, searing incandescence.

"I think he's coming to. Get ready, just in case..." A voice that lashed out from the ghostly beyond, the world of painful illumination, that same source of my suffering, was beginning to die down slightly.

The strange loud voice with the echo lapsed back into silence before it could finish. I suddenly felt cold, plastic textured hands fall upon me like birds landing on a log, as they kept me pressed against the unknown surface I was laying on.

"What? In case of what?!" I croaked out in a harsh, overworked groan from on my back, laying face up. My effort to speak proved futile.

The pain that had spawned in my head had migrated down to my stomach and my limbs, had become insufferable. I growled, moaning at the caustic chiming that had burrowed in and made itself comfortable in my pain-infested ear. I began to reach my hand up to grip the side of my head in an effort to soothe myself, but it was promptly yanked down and pinned harshly on something cold, hard and metal. The surface I was laying on; it must be some kind of table.

It was then then I was distracted by a weird thought, or more of an unidentified internal sense. It was like a voice, a voice speaking a new language, calling out my name. Half of me recognized the language and wanted to yell back to the muted cry, the voice in my head, but the other half didn't give any trust at all.

'I had never heard such a language,' says MousseVoice1. His voice was dark and full of cunning. As if he knew that I hadn't heard the voice before, and there was no way he was going to make me think otherwise.

'Oh, but you have. Don't you see it?! Listen! It's the sound! Remember...' Cried MousseVoice2. He had a lighter, more hurried voice. It was fearful, frightened almost. Like a young child who has lost track of where it's mother was, and was lost. It's voice held urgency, and told that it was the language of great importance, one I would be forever sinned upon for forgetting.

It made me uncomfortable. I knew that I _should_ know the voice, but I don't. I just don't.

'And now you're going to be punished for that. You are too forgetful, to forget her voice. Remember? The bars? Metal? The Black Sleep? The Russian Plantation that SHE had told you about? And you forgot. How could you forget such words. She can see you. She is watching. Always watching. Just like I am. Let's see if you can remember this.'

Silence came, nothing followed up after that.

'He's gone.' I thought, actually relieved at that.

But then I noticed something.

It was that my normally malfunctioning eyesight was now clear and perfect.

The second was the scene around me. Men clad in blue face masks, thin silk gowns, odd caps and cold latex gloves all of the same pale, fading blue color gathered around me, their plastic-gloved hands resting forcefully on each of my limbs and my chest. The worst part was their eyes. Their eyes were gone. All that was left were open black spaces, clotted with crimson colored blood. The rotting, mangled flesh around the empty sockets was shredded and peeled away from their faces, and somehow that fact was awfully and frighteningly familiar.

They did not move at all, even when I tried to push one away.

Their arms were like they were made of metal, or tough concrete.

'The voice. MousseVoice1.' I had suddenly felt as though MV1 had something to do with this. Was this his punishment? A horror movie that was shown to me up close and personal? A dark prank?

Deep voiced, sinister laughter rose up from all around me. Like a giant, savage monster, climbing up over the horizon border in the late afternoon, "No one will hear you screaming!" Ugly thoughts already on it's mind. Blood coating, like a fresh lair of paint, it's matted, muddy and partially slimy with the thing's foamy white drool, hair.

And he chose now to remind me again of where I was. Like he flicked a switch inside of my subconsciousness.

I was lying on a cold metal table, the surface glinting in the light surrounding us. But as soon as I said that, we were in a large grey operation room. Many large machines were against the walls. I could see the door in the corner, the lock making sure that no trespassers find out what was happening in there. I could briefly make out something that I recognized as an anesthesia machine. But they never once touched it while I was here. Not even a numbing serum to stifle the pain.

The Blue Men's soulless freezing hands keeping me pressed against the table like they expected me to attack them, or get up and run away, blowing the lock off the door, not even a glance back. I would if I could. Maybe they were the ones who gave me this pain.

'Of course they are. You think they're being FRIENDLY right now? Huh?'

I looked up in confusion and growing terror, but the emotion stopped when I saw that a few of the Blue Men were holding something. Each one held a small object in their hands. One had something black, the other something that shimmered in the light. The one near my stomach was holding a small yet thick black marker.

The Blue Man waved a signal to one of his assistants and I heard and felt something new.

A sound erupted from just outside my line of sight, which worried me to no end. I could not see whether it was good or bad. It was the sound that reminded me of one of those metal sheets they use to cover windows, closing and locking. Like metal gears working together. I felt a thick, iron restraint close over my left leg, and then my right.

My nervous struggles redoubled when they closed these around my arms, stomach, chest and neck that bound me to the table.

After that horror felt deed was done, I could not move at all. My eyes were wide open with new terror that seemed to appear out of nowhere, and I could faintly hear MV1 laughing in his mocking tone.

Something had ticked inside of me, and this out-of-place experience felt like Deja Vu again for a moment on.

'Do you see it now?' MV1 asked me. "No!" I responded, audibly now and fully confused. His laughing died out.

'Too bad. Now you've got it coming.' He speaks as if HE knew. He thinks that if I remember anything about this, anything that will give me a lead, he will let me go. All I had to do was remember. I tried thinking about the words that MV1 had said to me.

"Bars? Metal? The Black Sleep? The Russian Plantation?" Each time I said each separate phrase, it was like something burst in what little I had left of my sanity, like a mass of chains holding down my oh so precious memories, make sure they wouldn't get away! And those binds nearly shattered under the weight of the thoughts that I had brought up now. Each word felt like it was full of many stories and lost innocence.

A deep, dark fear hibernating inside of me awoke upon seeing the Blue Man bend over a bit, uncap the pen, and draw an "X" on my stomach with the thick, black marker. After that, he capped it and stood aside to make room for another Blue Man.

"What do you think you're doing?! What is going on?! Let me GO!" I yelled up to the Blue Men, who barely looked down at me. I would have said something else, now thinking- no, knowing that my choice of words were not the greatest. I felt sorrow and regret. This was not like me.

The Blue Man who had stepped forward to take the others' place signaled something to another one of his comrades, and the called upon left for a moment.

I felt warm relief wash over me like lukewarm water as I began to picture him coming back with a key to the restraints and letting me go, apologizing for the misunderstanding. "Just wait till I tell those guys about how I nearly died on an autop-...!"

In a flash like lightning, all of that left just as quickly as it came when the Blue Man drone came back with a thick wadded cloth and draped it over my mouth and tied it to the back of the table. 'How did that cloth fit? It was so short when I saw it, but now it's long enough to fall over my face and the table. Like it had grown.'

I tried to call out mercy (NO! YOU STOP IT MOUSSE!) and that I weren't an enemy again, (SHUT UP!) but my voice was muffled by the cloth. Saliva quickly dampened the rag and ran in wet strings to where it pooled on the table. But I couldn't care less about that now. (YES I COULD! I COULD CARE THE WORLD!) MV2 was sobbing now.

I realized something then. Something I inwardly scolded myself for not knowing.

'Both MV1 and MV2 are sides of my subconsciousness. MV1 stands for anger, jealousy, hate, bravery, punishment, hurt, and just plain being strict. MV2 stood for fear, sorrow, carefulness, calmness, (at times) Seeing Things On The Good Side, happiness, and kindness. The good and the bad.

Observing a bit more, and I was slightly calm now, thanks to the emotion waves given off by the now slightly braver MV2, I found that the Blue Man standing near my stomach was now holding a sharp syringe with an unsettling clear liquid inside. I could hear MV2 pitying me now. Loudly. And the calmness dissolved instantly.

It sounded like long, echoing wailing, yet the voice was all too soft. Like it belonged to a ghost who was weeping for no real reason. I also heard scoffing and snorting, maybe a bit of irritated growling.

He (The Blue Man) squeezed the press at the end just a bit and a small rope of the watery content seemed to leap out like out of a fountain in a most frightening way. MV2 shrieked, so high that only dogs and I could hear. I felt like screaming too. Darn you MV2. He was the one who was giving me that scared frequency. I was going to plead to that MV1 to give me good brave feeling, but I was cut off by MV2's mention of the sight around me.

'OOOHHH! (uh) AAAAAHHH!(Aaah!) TH-EY'RE COMING! (coming) TH-THEY'RE (ey're) COMING! (coming) SIGNS (signs) ALL (ll) AROUND! (d!) LISTEN! (Listen) His petrified voice echoed greatly, like he had doubled and all of his clones were yelling at me.

The Blue Man leaned down to to right height and I struggled harder. Who knew what could be in there.

The Blue Man cackled slightly and I heard a faint voice behind his, but it was so slurred I couldn't understand it. It was clearly not one of MV1 or 2's voices.

Surprise and deep wonder about the voice took my mind off of the lowering spike for just a moment. The one thing about that sound that will chill me until life's end. It too was irrevocably familiar.

'Grandmother!' MV2 Squeaked out. 'IT'S HER! TELL ME YOU REMEMBER NOW! TELL ME! THE BLACK SLEEP! THREE YEARS OLD! ACCIDENT! ACID! FORBIDDEN TO SEE WITH ALL SIGHT!' He yelled, and was quieted by a large feral snarl from MV1.

That was when the Blue Men decided that they waited too long. The Blue Man quickly and violently stabbed the soft flesh of my stomach with the sharp needle, blood spraying in all directions. It spattered and left thousands of sparkling red blood-rubies all over the Blue Men's coats. It covered me, as well. And MV2 was crying again. He sent his scared and sad waves over to MV1, who felt just the faintest bit of pity for me.

I could feel the Blue Man inject an acid into me, and a critically painful burning exploded from where he had hit the target he had drawn. The ink was melting away into the air, mixing with my blood in a dark red color that scared me until I thought it'd die.

I tried to curl up and back away from these sadistic, cruel people, but the restraints were holding me tight to the metal table, completely slashing all chances of escape and living. I felt sick and dizzy.

He pulled out the needle coated with blood and casually handed it over to the other Blue Man, who received it in a slow, robotic way. His arms moved at the same speed and were aligned perfectly. It was almost hypnotizing.

My vision was now impaired again, and I could just make out another Blue Man holding a sharp knife in his hand: a scalpel. A wide grin flashed upon it's features, streaking past the mask as it held up the sharp object. It glimmered in the light.

The weapon reminded me of my own collection of swards, knives, axes, and scythes. A horrible thought crossed my mind. What if I were stuck in a place that was like half in and half out of hell and reality? As if I were meeting myself, but this "Other me" would have been a murderous doctor with no eyes, and loved to attack and torture his opponents, scratch that, _victims_, to their awful demise. And this "Good" me, the real Mousse in the flesh would soon fall into the list of it's kills. 'Thanks for the thought, MV1.' I told him sarcastically, he did not reply.

But the knives also reminded me of how I constantly chased after that horrid bastard Ranma Saotome. Wait. Ranma!

This was the middle of Life and Death, the chasm of which all of earth was created. (To my best accuracy) Of course he would be here. Why wouldn't he want to see me suffer more than I already had, but this time, with a sharp knife. And he was probably the puppeteer of the Blue Men. Maybe even MV1 and 2. "Not them!" A cried, suddenly missing both of them, scared for my short-time companions. I felt relieved to hear 2's crying again, even if it just made my horror feeling worse.

My thoughts were interrupted my cracking, laughter, and screeching. I looked up to see that the Blue Men were laughing. Some were laughing so hard that they were falling apart. Their arms and heads just broke off and fell to the floor, covered with old blood and rotting flesh, yet still laughing.

It made my wounded stomach twist, and twist it did. Literally. Blood sprayed like from a broken water main. I screamed and tried to wrench myself from the iron grip of the restraints, but I stayed still. Not a part of me could move. And the Blue Men were still laughing. MV2 filled my voice with pleads for mercy, and MV1 tried to get me got stay calm, that dying was better anyway.

'It's what they wanted. And it's your punishment. Now you will have to bear this pain forever and always, now.' 1 tells me in his cruel voice. It stung and it hurt like nothing else I had felt. I was betrayed. At least not by 2.

The Blue Man who stood in front of my chained down head stuffed his hand into his jacket pocket and began to dig for something.

Soon, he pulled an object out of his pocket. It nearly made me faint of shock and terror. (Not to mention bloodloss). What rested idly in the Blue Man's hand was a person's painted skull, fixed up to look like one of the people of whom I once knew. It still had patches of shredded, slimy flesh hanging onto it, some dangling loosely, fresh blood dripping from it.

He crushed the recognizable skull in his hands and clapped them together. Now, he held two black stone tablets. They had writing on them, but I couldn't make out what type it was. It was that new language. But some person deep inside of me whispered in a low, unforgiving hiss of a voice, who that person is, or once was.

I would want nothing more than to have that person dead, but to see his bloody decapitated skull in front of my eyes was just too much for me to bear.

Tears rimmed my eyes and I writhed in the Blue Men's iron claws as the one closest to my stomach descended the scalpel down toward another mark that he had made while I was in a paralyzed stupor.

I watched helplessly as he jabbed the (now) carving knife violently into the mark, taking it out and stabbing me again. He did this numerous times, and each time it felt like there were a million flaming arrows being shot into my body. As if I were being eaten away by a water source.

They were cutting me open and taking my organs and entrails out, and doing more horrible experiments like they did with Grandmother.

"Grandmother". The name was majestic and equally haunting. A grey and black picture came to mind and blurred the sight of the Blue Men and their torturous testing. And for once, 1 and 2 were the quietest they'd ever been. Yet it felt like they were staring down at me expectantly. Did they want me to do something?

MV1 began to speak again, telling me all what had been said before. Metal, Bars, Russian Plantation, Black Sleep and the rest of that stuff. A sudden sadness struck me with hurricane force. 'HER!' I thought, but actually not knowing anyone of whom I was thinking of. It was of course Grandmother. No, she was not my mother's mother by blood, she was a person whom I've met before. She told me to call her Grandmother. Yet I missed her like I would if everyone i've ever known had died and I was the only one left. Other than MV1 and 2, of course.

And still, I sobbed in pain and confusion, trying so hard to find out what had made me react like this at the mention of this "Grandmother" person. I still wondered why she told me to call her grandmother, she looked like a woman in her early 30's.

When I had said her name, I felt as though an internal wall had shattered, and both bad and good memories of things like my dream came drifting back like white water rapids in a river.

It was as though she were a strong, brave warrior, ready to take on the most powerful of opponents.

"Oh, suck it up. Listen to these words that I tell you and listen good. As long as I'm still here and Morana hasn't collected my soul, I'll be right here in this bloody fucking cage. I swear on my honor as a Russian fighter, I'll try to stay. I promise to refrain from dying."

Yet, as strong and aggressive as she was, she had a soothing voice that I remember lightly lulled me to sleep at night and gave a strong sense of protection. Like a warm blanket during the cold season.

"I know. I know very well what you're going through because I had this once happen to me. Abducted from my home when I was 3, and brought here. So I'll make you a promise. I'll always be here. I'll comfort you when needed. I'll try as hard as I can to stay as long as Morana grants me, and during that time, I promise that I will always be here for you. Even when I'm not really here."

Her words were wonderful. She was so calm and wise, yet had the battle aura of a thousand soldiers. And she swore worse than a sailor. (Most of it in that unknown/known language.)

The pain flashed back and the memories flashed away as quickly and unexpectedly as they had come, and I felt disappointed.

A knife plunged deep into my gut again, but this time it was different. On impact, I felt myself slipping away from my body, becoming weaker and weaker, but the pain and memories grew stronger, like embers, to sparks, to a blazing bonfire.

And I screamed out in terror and vicious pain. Ageless voices dipped in and out of my line of consciousness as something caught my eye. A sight that I will not and cannot forget anytime soon.

Two men dressed completely in white were standing at the back of the room holding clipboards and writing down things I couldn't make out. They both had no face, and were like horrible demons. MV1 was watching them, and once, he even had a physical appearance. He looked like a darker, more demon-like version of me. And MV2 looked like a more timid version of me when He took an appearance. But both were very distressed about those two people.

'_Them.' _MV1 hissed aloud, no one else but me and MV2 to hear him.

'WHITE COATS! WHITE COATS! THEY'RE COMING! RUN! RUN! GOING TO DIE! R.O.M.A! R.O.M.A!' MV2 screamed, the last two words making me look back into my horrifying past. I've heard that before. Many times, before. And It hurt just to even say it.

One of the White Coats slowly turned his board abound and showed me a message that sent icy chills down my spine and racked my whole body.

The paper had read in haunting crimson ink, possibly made of old, dried blood, (IT'S _HIS_) "Welcome Home, EXPT Subject #178."

The world spun, then imploded altogether, sending me flying off of the autopsy table. I saw as my entrails floated out from my near dead body, yet I felt so alive then. But I just wanted to die.

And then I heard angry, almost feminine voices yelling at me. One a lighter tone and one a deeper. The deep one sounded concerned, while the higher voice sounded angry and irritated. "Skoll and Hati, the giant wolf gods." I said for no reason. I didn't know where I got it from, but like the rest of those things, it was frighteningly familiar.

I felt dizzy and weak, and the strong hurricane force winds tugged and me as I listened to the loud, booming voices above me.

The voices gradually grew louder and chains shot up from the deep black and wrapped themselves around me. I screamed out my agony as pain coursed all throughout my pale now drenched body.

I convulsed uncontrollably, shaking. Tears streamed from my eyes. A large person appeared in front of me, and he raised a dagger. With one strike, I only saw blood. Blood everywhere. Different pitches of high shrieking pierced through the hollow unforgiving hell. The voices still nagged my throughout this pain and horror. MV2 was crying and screaming, and MV1 was yelling angrily.

"What?! What do you want?! Help me! For god's sake HELP ME!"

And then, I woke up.

My wide, frightened eyes snapped open as I jolted awake in my bed. I was laying on my back again. But I felt fabric instead. I began to notice the place was the bedroom that I had rented to stay in.

I looked around and my horrified gaze was met with twin stares from watchers.

Relief flooded me once again as I recognized the two. The one who was genuinely concerned with the state I was in and the episode that just happened was my boss, and Shampoo's great- grandmother. Bloody vomit coated my mouth, chin and cloths as well as a good portion of my bed space. I shivered. Must have puked in my sleep. She stared in confusion and worry.

But the other one seemed to have felt different.

She looked tired from being awoken from sleep. Her revolted, angry scowl said so. I felt so happy that she was there, and the Blue and White coats were gone. All I knew was that my love was here, and not those people. What was "#178" anyway?

Well, whatever it was, it didn't matter now.

A bright smile lit up my features as I leaned slightly forward. "Shampoo!" I called happily, and she took a step back away from me.

She stared at me like she would to a man caught with one of those "White Dogs" i've heard about. As if she were incredibly mad. But her eyes told different. As if she were, just ever so slightly, scared of the scene in front of her. 'Cujo, why are you following me?' As if looking at a large, rabid dog, bloodshot eyes staring back, promising bloody death. Did she think _I_ was mad?!

Her great grandmother's staff intercepted and I ground to a halt.

"Stop! If I saw what I think I did, you may have that virus that has been going around. It's very contagious and can have dangerous effects for one who catches it. I suggest that you stay away from her and other people who aren't professionals for a while until we find out what you've caught."

I sat back, slightly worried and questionable. She must be talking about that illness that has been floating about around Japan. It had struck quite a few people sick, and a few even dead and dying.

"I'll just go up to the doctor in the morning." I told her, getting up to get new cloths.

'Oh great!' I worried to myself. 'They _DO_ think that i'm mad. She even said I looked 'sick'. Was I foaming at the mouth? Was I snarling? Were my eyes like a pigs, and my hands hooked into claws, my cloths shredded and dirty with blood and mud?'

"You are going to clean that up." She added. I rolled my eyes as they walked out of the room to let me change cloths. I slightly smiled at the cloth that lay by a bucket full of cool water.

Yeah. Doctor.

Like? This is the first of many, many, long chapters, a few going to be short. So please comment, subscribe, flame, whatever you wish, except steal. So anyway, this will be a long series. Be sure to read the next chapter, "A Cure Is Found."


	2. A Cure Is Found

I'm going to try to get as much Slave R.O.M.A in as I can, and hopefully that will mean a new chapter every two days. All the more to love. This new chapter is (nearly) not going to have any known characters, but important ones. Now you can read the long list of words below that can be put together and called a fanfic. Complete with dialogue.

SLAVE R.O.M.A

BOOK 1: THE ABDUCTION

-  
**Spring- 05:00AM- Exterior R.O.M.A West Wing- Phoenix, Arizona- America**

A large black van slowly turned into the open parking spot, clear of nearly all cars, and sped smoothly past just as the hour hit 5:00.

The damp gravel crunched under it's new, thick rubber tires. In that fact, the whole car was new. There was even a small cherry scented (and shaped) air freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror inside. Bobbing and pitching next to it was a small pink flamingo that looked like it was dancing, it's skirt waving from the movement of the car. It never failed to tickle the driver as he left for work, and came back home to his home that had been sold to him just a little while ago. He was lucky to get it at all.

The story behind this began was a few years earlier; when economy in America was definitely plummeting to fail-hell, and the prices of even the most cheapest things were shooting up to horrific numbers.

He (the driver) thought he'd die there in the middle of the isle when he saw the price for a head of cabbage at one of the city's many convenience stores. Those places were so large, you'd get lost on the way back to your car. It was a wonder how they kept them running at all. But everything just seemed to be cleared up (at least to him) when he struck gold by landing a job at R.O.M.A.

The large, shiny black front driver door swung open soundlessly and a man of about 20 stepped out. He bore a small, yet a right size to _not_ fit in his lap when driving to work, suitcase with him, in that of which he carried his work outfit. Most people left theirs in their lockers, but him being the neat and orderly man (so he liked to think, most often, did Harold Stetson), he brought his home and washed it.

What he was wearing now, was a coal black suit with a white shirt underneath the collared jacket, the white shirt cuffs showing, as well as the trim around the end of the shirt at the waist. Gray dress pants matching the rest. His black shoes were polished just before he left for work. He carried a block of shoe polish around, most notably today, Harold himself being worried about how muddy the ground was. (He chose Kiwi brand.) A crimson colored tie adorned his chest, as well as a rather official looking seal. "R.O.M.A- Research Facility Of Medicine and diseases in America"

He was uncomfortable at first about having to wear that tacky tagline around, but it wasn't so bad after a while of wearing, since it belonged to one of the biggest and most productive laboratories around the world. They were the well known bests of Disease Research Laboratories, but an enemy to animal rights people.

R.O.M.A used vivisection and chemical testing on monkeys, dogs, cats, rabbits, rats, etc. They performed radiation, surgery, field tests, just plain messing around, and a bunch of other things that he was too lazy to name. The only thing that the whole world _didn't_ know about them was 3rd floor.

Somehow, though he did this every day, he felt as though it was going to be a time that he won't soon forget, and he'd better spend his time in it wisely. A day like this could not just come any day, you know. Stetson was a man of many humdrum beliefs, and one of them was luck.

"I might as well walk in with some humor." The man told himself, thinking about the latest episode of How I Met Your Mother. (A/N: One of my favorite shows! He strutted up with a stride into the main entrance, and stopped just before the large door mat, the company label stamped on it. Harold picked up a rock (after inspecting it for mud or dirt) and threw it at the rug, and the twin doors slid open.

He began to walk in, but seeing one of his friends was there, he began to stride again. And the receptionist at her desk, the said friend, laughed at the sight of this. Her name was Rachel White. (I did not know this was a real person! Just randomly came up with it. Funny, No?)

She was not that old, just about reaching her early twenties. The last woman who worked at White's position quit when she had hooked up with a few cat-loving friends and became "Infected" by the Neko-Lovers Rights laws, and packed her so-few things she kept in her cave, and left.

She was rather ashamed when her own daughter went and filled in for her in her work space.

"You may be making enough to get food on your table, but you're not _near_ enough to strut around like that. Now, Michal the janitor..." She tossed her hand to the side with a baleful expression playing upon her small features. She snickered through her teeth, a small candy stick poking out between them.

They were not aloud to smoke inside of the building (except for in certain rooms, not that White did that anyway, she did have moral standards), so she just reached over to the local Hanniford and bought herself two dozen packets of candy sticks and hid them in one of her drawers behind her desk. You could find her at nearly anytime with a thin, colored stick poking out through the seam of her lips as she typed away on her _Acer_ computer.

Bursts of spontaneous laughter erupted from around the office. The man, who was known to be called Harold, but nicknamed Xion (Jshee-Awn) laughed with them and stopped the strut.

'That guy getting a job like mine? Come back into reality, Rachel. Heh. Reality and Rachel. They do sound alike. Maybe next time, when I come into work, I'll say, "Good Morning, Reality."' He walked over to a large box in the corner of the room by yet another pair of sliding glass doors, took out his time card with a wide, devious grin and jammed it into the machine that was handy.

"Right on time, as expected Xion." A voice called to him. The voice was low and scratchy, but still had the sense of fake admiration intertwined inside of it, like dark coffee and light, yet sour alone, milk. (He thought so, at least) Or cream, depends on whatever you like in your PrestonCoffee.

He turned around to see his assigned working partner, Preston McKay, standing in the middle of the sliding glass doors that were marked with the R.O.M.A label, leaning against the frame. He too, wore the R.O.M.A tag everywhere, but he did not have the same cloths as him. Not nearly, which at first and maybe still did bother him.

The tall, skinny man just wore a salmon colored long sleeved shirt with the coffee stain on it, and the grey, faded jeans. He also had a white work outfit, which was resting in his free arm.

You could say that Preston one one of the few people who still held a grip on sanity. He was nearly always calm, and liked to joke around with people. A philosopher, he was naturally, not that Xion minded that part (he was himself). He was, and still is, a tight penny-pincher, always looking for new ways to earn money, and work harder for a raise, and spend as little as possible. Xion thought at one point Preston was going to save up and spend so little that he soon would have enough to be one of those fancy rich people he saw on T.V.

If you compared the two, Preston McKay and Harold "Xion" Stetson, you could say that they were the opposite of each other. Preston's hair was a dirty grey/blonde, (think France from Hetalia) whilst Xion's was a deep, iron black, maybe even blacker. McKay always came with an outward smile, always, but Xion seemed to be more stern and careful than him, as if nearly no one could make him drop his guard and smile in the least. Only McKay and a few others could do that.

Both of their, and all of the others' work outfits consisted of a thin white shirt made of fine, thin linen, as well as the white pants that they wore. Most notably, and of which they were best known for was the thin, fabric white lab coat with the dozens of pockets and loop holds, and the tacky (sometimes the buttons came off and had to be sown on again or replaced) button up front. But most of them left it open, as if the buttons never even existed.

Xion politely smiled to him and placed his time card into his labeled pocket nearby, and went to join his friend. Preston got to work earlier that day, since he worked in floor 2 biosafty 2 in the morning and part of the night shift. He made a bit more money than Xion did, but he wasn't really a spender. Hence the clothing.

"Great to be working here, isn't it?" Preston asked his friend, who was now holding his bag to keep it from banging and bruising his legs too much as they walked down the clear, clean-smelling halls. Michal must have just mopped.

"Sure is." He replied just as they got to the locker room that was near the front hall, and went inside. Preston walked over to the back of the room and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and one leg over the other.

"You've been here earlier than me. What the hell are we going to do today? Chemicals? Animals?" Xion paused to let it sink in.

"3rd floor work?" He asked with a slightly amused tone in his voice. Xion himself had went into one of the stalls and locked the door, opening his case. His clean, white work cloths rested peacefully in there, not having moved a bit since he had packed them in.

Preston chuckled from his place, leaning against the wall, which needed some work on the mold, some of it fell on his shoulders. It was beginning to take over the whole room, or so it seemed. And now people, too.

"Like they'd ever assign us to something as big as that. The whole thing down there is a government conspiracy."

Xion wagged a teasing finger in the air, despite Preston not seeing him. "Watch what you say. They may have a spy in here. Hiding somewhere, being perverts and making changing into work outfits a television show." He had meant it to be a joke, but you never know. Xion was still chilled at the idea of being found out. If they found that they were doing those tests behind their backs, it could be all over. For him and the rest of those who worked at the lab.

"Not like we've expected anything different." Preston added with a bored tone in his normally tired voice. They talked about other things in the lab before stepping out into the newly sanitized halls once again. "I can smell the chlorine in the air." Preston told Michal, who responded by a small laugh and talking about how he had to work more because of a break out of a monkey. It stormed through the halls, tossing things and knocking medicine carts over, throwing shit everywhere and at the shocked scientists.

Preston turned back to Xion after his conversation had ended, and Xion had finished reading the label to the Kiwi polish box. "If you get this in your eye..." 'Who would be dumb enough to get shoe polish in their eye?' Xion thought. 'That person must be one dumb fuck to wind up with that in their eye, and then read the label to see if the directions would help him/her.'

"I remember now. Emily told me that we're going to be working in the, uh, biosafty lab level 4 today. In 2nd floor." Preston told him with a calm expression.

"Working in P4. Home of the kangaroos and crock guy*." He added the last for extra measurement. "The only thing we'd do in the 3rd level P4 is scrape the cages and feed the subjects."

Probably that was right. The ones who worked there were the ones who had gotten that job years before. Xion's father had worked in 3rd level P4 once, but died from a disease he got from one of the subjects.

"Why do they want us in P4?" He asked his friend, who knew all. At least he did to some degree. "That is where we work on diseases we have yet to find the cure to. So that's what we'll be doing. Saving the world by transporting chemicals with eye droppers and looking at stuff with a microscope through these big plastic suits."

"FYI, they're called HAZMATS." Xion told him, as if he were the living dictionary and the smartest person in the world.

But he liked his friends' sense of humor. It was good for the workers in the lab. Without it, it just seemed like they were all working on something that was against the world instead of with it. Might as well give him what he wants.

"I think that we're going to be doing something on the crazy virus that's been affecting the world today." Xion joked. "Like Ebola. And AIDS. And YouTube."

Preston nodded his way. "Broadcast yourself."

* * *

They walked down the halls and took the elevator down the level 2 and looked to the door that was near the big glass window. It was hard to miss, so they found it in no time. That same room was the one that kept all of their work suits needed for the lab in level 2 P4 clean. Heck, it also kept themselves clean.

Preston stumbled as he slipped on his blue plastic suit, the same one that Xion and the other workers in P4 were fixing up the same day. And like any other day. The schedule doesn't change that much if you're not Preston and Xion, maybe a few unlucky others.

"Good thing we don't have to put on these blasted suits every day. That would just kill me. Might as well be the subjects in Down Below." He spoke. Of all the things they could have been doing, being a subject down there was the worst of them. "You can only check in once, and you can never check out. Unless you're dead, of course."

Just as Xion was grabbing the coiled orange cable to hook into his suit, a lab worker who was down there regularly opened the metal entering hatch. He seemed confused at their existence down in Chamber 1. Xion rolled his eyes and began to speak.

"Emily has told us that we work in 2nd level P4 today, so that's why were are here. You can stop staring at us now." Xion cleared up, but the worker couldn't care less.

"I know. But you aren't supposed to really be working in the lab. You're sorting through the old cases and files. Taking out the good and interesting ones from the dull and boring and sorting them. Sorry." He told the pair, and went to slip on his suit, which hung at a rack nearby.

Preston sighed, beginning to wrench off his boots and Xion irritably took off his own and slipped them and the suit in the dirty laundry chute in the wall. Preston chucked his in for the fun of it, and ran to catch up with his friend.

"Just as I thought. We won't be working with the lab. We'd be sorting folders. Just great!" Xion growled, but the turned to his friend. "Bet I can find the most interesting case." He told him.

Preston smiled daringly at him. "You're on. Loser owes the other twenty bucks." The two shook hands and went over to another hallway. "Why are we here?" Xion asked Preston when he stopped at a map.

"I got lost. I'll have to look at this handy Atlas of the World to guide me." He told him. Xion studied the small map of 2nd level that was just printed on a piece of a paper and taped into the door.

"Some Atlas you got there." He told him as they began walking again.

After winding their way through the labyrinth of halls, Xion stopped short at a large deep green door.

"I think this is it. From what I remember of the "Atlas" this has to be the place where all of the files are kept in." Xion inquired, while Preston just scoffed.

"Smart Ass." Preston spoke under his breath.

"I heard that! Don't be insulting the one who you shall fork over $20.00 to." Xion called over his shoulder.

Preston dashed inside after him moments before the door slammed shut. "Don't be so cocky. After all, you're eyes couldn't tell the difference between an inchworm and an elephant."

* * *

The two stepped around for a bit in the small, dark, and nearly empty room before Xion came over to a filing cabinet. "I think they're in here." Preston came over to him upon hearing this statement. "Check the label." He told him.

Xion stared down at it. The tag had a set of numbers written there. "What do you think it means?" He asked Preston, who rolled his eyes. "I think that's the date." He told him.

Once again he looked down at the white tag, but stared harder. Perhaps he was right. Now that he looked at it, the numbers were set up like the date to some cases and files years ago.

"This is it." He told Preston, who held his chin up. "I'd smack that grin off your face if I weren't using both hands to open the drawer." Xion told him, edging for Preston's help. Xion himself was struggling to open the drawer already.

It took a while for him to catch on, but soon enough Preston grabbed Xion's legs and pulled. "You're supposed to pull the handle!" Xion snapped, and Preston let go, letting him fall to the floor.

Preston clamped his hands to the stuck cabinet's handle and pulled as hard as he could. "A little help here?!" He strained, Xion getting up and setting his hand on the top of the cabinet with a lightly amused look.

And at that, the drawer exploded with a loud bang and it was raining tan folders. "I got it!" Preston told him from his place on the floor.

Xion was going to call back to him, but he was looking at the files strewn around the deep brown/blue carpet. He could get a head start. An extra twenty bucks didn't seem at all that bad to him.

He got down on his hands and knees, sat down, and picked up a file that was nearest to his leg. Removing the paper clip, he began to read.

Preston took note of this and grabbed one as well. He seemed rather happy when he looked at it. "Mine's from 3rd level P1! Top that!" He smirked in triumph.

Xion looked down at his and showed it to his smiling friend. "Mine is too." He set that one down in the pile he called "Boring" and picked up another one. He seemed slightly puzzled at what he saw. "This one is from 3rd as well. But it's from P3."

Preston was bewildered, so he crawled over to him to have a look. "These must all be from 3rd." Preston hypothosized.

"Must be. But I'm still gonna find the best one from 3rd." Preston shot him a dirty look. "Not if I do first." He challenged.

The two went to work again, this time noticing a pattern with each of the files. Like the one Xion had in his hands.

On the top it had what the subject was called.

- EXPT. SUBJECT #121 "Mubarak, Hathair*1"

Then it told if they were Male/Female, the latter being circled. "Who would name their young girl "Hathor?" It told where they came from next.

- CAIRO, EGYPT

"Oh." He told himself. Preston looked up. "What do you mean, "oh?" He asked him. "Nothing. This kid's from Egypt." He told him. "See which town he came from. I want to send a postcard to Anubis." He told Xion, who laughed at this. Postcard to Anubis.

It went all the way through blood type, DNA code, date of birth, etc. He was actually surprised at how much they knew about her.

They sorted through these things until their Boss came in to check on them. But of course, they didn't notice the door opening.

"What are you two doing on the floor?" He asked them, making them sit bolt upright, spooked a bit.

"We're doing what you said. Sorting through files to get the good and the bad." Xion replied to him. Behind him, Preston nodded, forgetting that Emily had told them this, not their Boss.

"I know, but can you at least get off of the floor and pick up the files? You look like children playing with toys." He told them. "Old Emilio's right, Xion. Pick up the files, or else you'll get grounded for a month. And no T.V!" Preston told him, slapping him on the back.

Just as he got up though, Xion pulled him down and forced him to do the cleanup work with him. "You're in this with me too." Xion growled. Then the scowl turned into a smile. "Smart Ass." He told him.

Preston scoffed at the joke and began picking up the files. "Did you actually find something good in there? I was trying so hard to get that door open. It wouldn't budge. So?" Emilio asked them.

Xion and Preston exchanged looks but then went back to their boss. "All of these cases are dated from years ago. Some of the kids must be in their teens by now." Preston told Emilio.

"And they're all in 3rd level." Xion added. Emilio just nodded. "Those are things to know. Anything else that caught your eyes?"

They just shook their heads. "Take all of the files and bring them into the lab. I have something for you to do. It needs the files." Emilio told them.

Xion and Preston picked up the files in their arms and followed their boss into a 2nd floor P4. "You don't need your suits in here. We're in a closed off area." Emilio informed.

* * *

When they walked inside, it began to look like something you would see in a science fiction movie.

The color scheme was white, with glowing, electric blue around the trimming of the walls, and the doors, as well as some parts on the floors and surrounding the computers, those of which were built into the walls.

Only a few were on a large white desk, which spanned all across the room, which was in a perfect curve, a chair every few feet, and a computer space to every chair, as well as a working place and elbow room.

In the middle was a large bubble on a glowing white marble pedestal, which held a replica of the whole R.O.M.A building. Surrounding that was like a blue plasma. Yes, you can put your hand through it since it is just light, but nearly nobody joked around like that there. Maybe in first floor, but not in 2'nd or 3'rd.

All of the chairs were filled with workers, but Emilio was just looking for one person. And soon he found her. Both Xion and Preston knew this when he briefly chuffed in slight relief and began walking up to her.

"Who is that?" Xion asked Preston as they walked up the the silent worker. Her eyebrows were sewn together in an expression of major distress, as if she were worried about something, but not scared.

Sweat covered her face, and a frown telling clearly that what she was thinking and looking at meant something, and that something might not be all that good. As if she were just told that the world was going to end and that she was the only one that could save them all from certain death. And she was failing miserably.

"Are you sure that these old files will have something to do with the virus?" Emilio asked the woman, who was Dr. Emily Bracker, the same person who told Preston where they were working earlier.

The woman did not move. She did not look up. It was like she did not even acknowledge their presence in the least. As if she were either ignoring them, or did not notice. But Emily did notice. She just did not respond. 'There are more, most dire things that need to be tended to other than that.' Emily thought.

Her back was turned toward the three behind her, so they could not see exactly what she was doing.

'Something bad is about to happen. I have a really bad feeling today, I just don't know. I just don't know! Those voices... they are familiar... but from where? That old woman... and the boy...' That just got her more stressed when she thought about it, and then she finally answered to the waiting people facing her.

"Of course. Why else would I have that strange dream?"

Xion tilted his head to the side in confusion. What was this strange dream that involved one or more of the old 3rd floor subjects, and the virus? He wouldn't know. Emily had been working at the lab for a very long time. Much longer than he. She was an expert at these things, she had moved from being just a helper, a female, to one of the top scientists in 3rd level P4, the commander and nearly the boss, but after The Great Escape, she went back to work in 2nd level P4 instead.

"One of those," she pointed to the files, "must be immune to the disease that's spreading." And that was all she said. She looked as though she were about to burst out crying. Her cheeks were flaming red, and deep, dark circles lay under her watery eyes, the pair of blue/grey orbs being wide with orderly, yet upsetting panic.

Emilio was just ever so slightly confused at her statement and lack of definition.

"Tell us about your dream, Emily." He told her. She nodded slowly, turned around again, and began to talk.

"It was about this young boy." She croaked out, as if she could not talk anymore. If she did, she would go into a hitching frenzy, and tears would spill from her eyes and flow down her face. It seemed painful just _thinking_ about that. But she somehow found the courage to continue.

"He was one of the test subjects back when I was still one of the tops in 3rd P4. It then suddenly came to me, like a big gust of wind, that this kid was just not normal. He always talked to this aging woman in the cell above him. But there was something else." She stopped.

"I normally didn't feel anything for the subjects. That's just how I trained myself to be. But all of my strict training just seemed to have easily floated away." She told them faintly, and then her words died off again.

Each of those who worked in 3'rd level P4 had to go through special, harsh training to see if they were ready for the job.

They had to be taught things. Things that seemed just crazy. It was more of _un_training. Had to be taught not to feel pity for the subjects. To always have a stern face around them. Don't play with them, don't talk to them, no matter how sad they seem. You must not feel love, you must not feel fear, and mostly, never feel sorrow. This was how most of Emily's emotion was wiped out, making her this ghost-like woman they knew now.

"I became interested with this boy. I did not talk to him, although I would have given anything to be able to do that. I did not smile, I glared, harder than I have ever done before. But in the inside, I was smiling. I felt happier than any other time in my life. I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh again. To breathe, forget."

Emily was lost in her fantasy for a few seconds, tears rimming her eyes. Tears of pain, joy, happiness, all emotion of the memory.

"We ran a test on his blood type and DNA code, and found that he is immune the the virus. He still carries it. We can create an antibiotic from his blood and have found the cure!"

Emilio was nodding politely the whole time. "And which one do you think this is, Emily?" He asked her. He nodded toward Xion and Preston, who quickly lay the folders out on the table.

Emily sorted through them until she came to the one she was looking for. "This one! This is the one!" Emily holds up a folder that Xion had chosen. It was of a young boy with long, black hair and green/blue eyes.

"And this was the lady he was always talking to!" She holds up another folder, this time one of Preston's. She was a feral-looking woman, her teeth bared like a wolf's, her eyes glaring bloody murder.

Then she holds up the folder that I had found. The one with Hathor Mubarak. "This was the one in the cage near him." She tells Emilio, who begins to notice a pattern.

"I think I'm getting on to what you mean. These are from a long time ago. The virus is from now. So speaking of which, these must have different immune systems because the lab worked different back then. If we send these down to the lab, they can get us the right subject, and we can get the antibiotic."

Emily seemed uneasy once again for a moment. "But they are also the reason why I came back up here. Those two are not in the lab anymore. Remember The Great Escape? Those are the two that made it out. They are most likely dead now in the wild." Emily informed with a sad frown.

Emilio pointed at Hathor's page. "What about this one? I know she's still here. But she's not doing very well. She is program BP1, but every time she fails to carry a child. We're going to try one more time."

Throughout this conversation, Xion had not been paying any attention. He had been looking at the screen that was in front of Emily. Something about seemed to catch his interest.

The number code of the would-be antibiotic was the same as on the page of the Black Haired Kid. It was very strange and rare, but he thought that he had seen somebody like that before. If he was correct, he was in Japan right now. Not dead. 'But how did he get there?' He asked himself.

"I think I know where this kid is." Xion spoke up in the middle of the sentence. They were on top of him in an instant. "Where?! Where is he?! Is he dead?! Speak, boy!"

Xion backed up a bit before telling them. "He is alive. Right now he's about in his teen years. He lives in Japan with the occupation of working at a restaurant."

They closed in on him more than ever. Even Preston was hooked. "Which one?! What is the name?" They asked frantically and demandingly.

"Cat Cafe." Xion replied simply.

* * *

)*1He means Australia. Another word for that which he is hinting to is "Down Below". 3rd floor P4 is the last floor. *2 Pronounced "Heh-theer". Harold Stetson was once my first person I played on The Sims 3, PS3. And his wife, Miki (Mee-Kee) Yanez. _This_ Harold Stetson has no wife. Emilio (Em-Eel-Yow) I got the name from watching Man's Best Friend, and Emily because she is the girl in both my elementary and high school classes.


	3. False Vaccination The Shunned Doctor

Like the last one? The first few chapters are kinda confusing, but you'll get it after a while. Hopefully this chapter is better to understand than the last two. Sorry I haven't updated in a long time. I'll make it up to you with this. Just for those who don't know, Xion's name is pronounced like "Shy-On" except the "Sh" part has a bit more of a "J" sound to it. "Shjiy- onn." And the doctor is "Ky- air" Get it? And Typos galore! (I think) Now ignore this sentence and read the text below!

SLAVE R.O.M.A

BOOK 1: THE ABDUCTION

It felt right. How the wind flew in his face and made his hair float in the air in a trail behind him, how he pedaled down the long, black, paved road on the way to one of the local doctor's offices.

Actually, it wasn't even a real office.

Colonge had recommended that he went to this person that she knew. Apparently, he would make an expert doctor, maybe even a lot better, if it weren't for his "Illness".

He was an isolated shut-in that was afraid of the word, and rejected by it.

He used to be a friend of hers, but she was the only person whom was even close to a real friend to Kaire. All the rest of the people didn't like him. In fact, they may have hated him.

He really couldn't figure out why, but he _did_ knew they were greatly displeased when they cast odd and disgusted looks at him and shifted away when he was near. So he ended up isolating himself in his house, and nearly never coming out.

He never answered to door or phone to anyone, unless it was Colonge or someone important. The depressed and lonely man went by the name of Kaire, which was his last name. Mousse didn't know his first name, so he planned he would just call him "Dr. Kaire."

If the description of his place was correct, he lived in a large, three or four story house. The outside was a deep, fading blue, the paint just beginning to mold, rot and peel from age and weather. Some of the black moss-covered shingles coating the roof were hanging off the edge carelessly. It seemed this "Kaire" didn't really care about the appearance of his house.

It was found easily, but the hard part was just getting in. When Mousse got to the gate, he hopped off of his bike and walked over, and set his hand on the wood. It was met with something that felt like, sticky, wet thread, and a lot of it. Like a ball of thin yarn. Lots of tingling broke out all over on his hand, so he looked down. He had placed it right in a nest of spiders.

In panic, he began to retract his hand which was now nearly coated with small black arachnids, and a fairly large chunk of the rotting wood fence fell off and to the ground. Thousands of silverfish and termites and other bugs rapidly crawled out of it like water spilling out of a glass.

He waved his hand in the air quickly with disgust and clutched it to his chest, the other hand cupped tightly over it, standing a good ways away from the fence. He shuddered, a chill flowing cold warmth all over his body in the aftershock of terror. Dizziness claimed him as he began to sway slightly, and his vision doubled.

'Was I bitten? Is that why it feels like the middle of summer? Am I going to die?!' He asked himself over and over again in his mind. 'No!' A stern voice answered back. He stopped swaying at the voice. Where had he heard that before?... MV1!

'Stop it. You're acting like and idiot. Of course the thing bit you.'

"But you're not going to die!...Are you?!(MV2)"

'Yes, but you should know that just a few spiders aren't going to kill you.' (Their talk isn't making sense)

Mousse nodded to himself. If was just a few spiders.

He began to walk back in the direction of the fence again, when another thought cut him off. "Are you crazy?! you just got bit by a bunch of [Shudder] spiders! Who's to say that they're not poisonous? Are you _asking_ for death? Take my advise, go home and sleep. Lock up the doors and check to make sure that they're aren't any spiders in your room and your bed. Maybe they were there last night... maybe BlahBlahBlah WorryWorryWorry..."

At first he thought that he should just leave, intent on never touching that fence again. Until he looked into the window. A tired and somewhat worried face stared out back at him, as if wondering what this person was doing, about and destroying his property; acting like a madman in front of his house.

"Are you Kaire?" Mousse called to him, and the doctor nodded his head.

'He heard me through this window?' He asked himself in amazement. He must have great hearing. Like I do.'

Fantastic hearing what makes up for poor eyesight. But this person would have had glasses if it were the same way with him. Maybe he just didn't wear them.

Although his thoughts changed when he stared at the house a bit more. The window was probably so old and frail that you could hear the moon rising through it. This was probably the case.

"I'm here to see you!" He called to Kaire, who for a moment looked a mixture of delighted, puzzled, and scared.

Delighted, because he was not going to be lonesome anymore with this new person around to keep him company (his pet fish died earlier, making him even more lonely that he had ever been, and even worse, adding on to the depression), puzzled, because he did not know why he was there and hadn't seen live humans in a long (and he means _looooong_) while.

The only people he saw were from the baroque era, and they were just in paintings.

Scared, because this was this first human contact he had been in for months. Who knew what his person could be like, and if it were just another person to come and bother him again.

/What for?/ Kaire mouthed through the glass. Too bad Mousse didn't read lips very well A/N: Can he? It didn't say in the Anime, so I just thought this.

"I've come to see the doctor about this dream that i've had!" He called back to him.

Kaire cast a bright, happy, yet knowing smile at him and left. Seconds later he came to the door and opened it. "Come on in." He called, and began to go back inside, but stopped when he realized that the person was not following. "What's the matter?" He asked timidly.

Mousse pointed at the gate. "I can't get in. The door is covered with bugs." He lamely said, somewhat taking MV2's advice.

Kaire didn't notice that before.

The last thing he knew was that the gate was brand new, the paint still giving off a fresh smell, the grass trimmed and a perfect, lush green around it. Now it was past waist length, and a dried brown. Weeds sprung up around in the oddest places, and long thick ivy vines with large green leaves, bug occupying them, covered nearly everything in the lawn. Heck, it nearly swallowed up his whole house, or so it looked.

Kaire used a long stick to get the door open for him, not minding in the least, much to Mousse's relief, and the two went inside of the man's cluttered house.

Soon they came into a sitting room and Mousse was offered a small snack that Kaire had as he sat in a red antique chair.

"What happened?" The doctor asked Mousse, and the latter told him about the dream, about vomiting in his sleep, about Grandmother, The Blue Men and the White Coats. Everything.

Being taught this, and as all medics are, Dr. Kaire just nodded slightly. "I see. It's just a nightmare that you had. Did you see any movies with vivisection in them?" He asked him.

"That has to be the case." The doctor murmured quietly to himself, so the boy in front of him couldn't hear. Before this, he had heard about cases like the one displayed in front of him, but there were a few things that set them apart.

'Does he have a fear of doctors?' Dr. Kaire asked himself.

Seconds later, he realized his mistake and huffed at his own stupidity. 'If he did, he would be acting obviously phobic right now.' Although he was not dressed like a doctor right at the moment. He was wearing the cloths he went to bed with.

He tried thinking about a fear of needles, since one of these so-called "Blue Men" was holding a toxin filled syringe, that was injected into his stomach, which blew up after that.

Mousse tilted his head to the side and slightly blacked out for a moment. That word. He had heard it before, a long time ago. Saying it was like the nightmare all over again. Vivisection. And it was on himself.

"Hello? Are you okay? Mousse!? Come to!" The doctor was waving a hand in his face, and snapping, eventually waking him up.

"I thought I lost you there for a moment. What were you thinking about?" He asked.

Mousse just looked down at the floor. "Nothing. Nothing at all." He replied, remembering to keep quiet about the dream and other things, forgetting that he had just told him the whole experience not ten minutes ago.

"I think I know why you are having those dreams. Have you at any time been bitten by a rabid animal and taken to get rabies shots?" Kaire asked Mousse, who was just slightly confused.

"No, I don't remember anything like a "Rabid Animal." He told him, still wondering what real rabies looked like.

He remembered getting Shampoo to come with him to a theater, and they watched a movie that was based off of a Stephen King novel. The movie was called "Cujo."

It was about this big, friendly St. Bernard dog who is bitten by a diseased bat, and he contracts the disease, making big ole Cujo turn a bloodthirsty killer. He traps a mother and her young son in a car, and nearly kills them. The sight of the slimy blood and mud coated giant dog was chilling and entertaining, as well the rest of the plot. And the effects were great for a movie from 1984, but Shampoo didn't really think the same.

"I think it's just a bug. I'll be getting home now." He told Dr. Kaire, heading for the door. "Wait!" Kaire called after him.

Mousse looked back over his shoulder. "What?" He asked tiredly.

"That "Just A Bug" is preventing you from getting any sleep. And I have predicted that it may be that virus that's spreading like wildfire. They're giving out vaccinations downtown at 10:00 in the morning. I suggest that you go there, just in case." Kaire advised. A/N: God. For a shut-in, he sure knows a lot, doesn't he?

Mousse took note of this and left, going back to at least try and sleep until he went down to where the medication was being dosed out. If he could. Maybe if he dreamed again, it would be the answer to his earlier nightmare.

'That's it. It's like a puzzle I have to solve. Like in a Stephen King novel!' He thought, and think he did, the whole way home too. With that said and done, the vow to never think about the dream again was broken.

'I'll have to set it up like he would. Like a story plot.' Mousse began. He walked into the hallway and ascended the flight of stairs that led to the hotel.

'It all began when the main character, me, had a horrible nightmare. It was about how he 'awoke' in his dream and found that he was pinned against a table.' Mousse stated, and began to write all of this down on a pad of yellow lined paper on a desk.

'Then they held him down with restraints that were made of metal...' He went all the way through his dream and thought about it for a minute.

Nearly everything in his dream was oddly and strikingly familiar. At the same time it was still vague, yet very important. What frustrated him was that he couldn't tell. And that was for everything. He absolutely knew he had known a person named Grandmother who was exactly how he had explained in his dream in nature, but there was still a lot missing.

Something like a spirit in the back of his mind kept saying that she wasn't really his grandmother, that was just what she was called because... well, he didn't know that. He used to, he just forgot.

As well as if she were really much older than he were or a young kid. Those two words floated around in his mind when he said that.

"I'll just write down what comes to me when I think of this person, and maybe when I look at it all, I'll remember her." He told himself, and so he did.

The list was taking up half the page, but it still didn't seem to be enough. It said that she was a born fighter, and had a short temper.

She too hated and feared the White Coats as well. A few loose words came up every so often. Like "Russia", "Since I was a young girl", "Morana" and "The Black Sleep".

"Many cords" was scrawled down there as well. Sometimes there were a few words that he did not under stand, but he wrote them down the best he could. The language was also part of that "Remember but don't remember" thing. It had a familiar ring, but he couldn't place a finger on it.

But he'd just have to keep trying.

* * *

Just as every morning started, it began with a loud **_"Bang"_**. Followed by an angry yell, and a sound like someone or something hitting another object. And then the cycle repeated. Sometimes a large "Splash!" sound, and them more fighting.

It began to get like an alarm clock, batteries included. You just need to charge them at night. The only downfall is that when you actually get out and see the source of the noise (AKA the lawn) it is just a rubble pile. In most cases, even the Dojo itself.

The heating bill was bad enough, not to mention the prices of gasoline eating away at the funds.

With the amount of money they were paying to get the walls and windows and doors repaired stacking higher and higher, the owner of the property was staying awake late at night trying to squeeze the amount of money of which they didn't have out of the bank fund, which the bank was starting to dislike them.

Constant asking for loans could not get you on the good side of their service.

And yet somehow her sister always woke up with a smile and set a great breakfast at the table by the large glass door.

"Surprising how they even have the nerve to come in and stuff their faces after all that. It would be a sight when I tell Ranma we're in debt with loans and he has to pay it all off."

Akane laughed lightly at the thought of this. As if he could just pull $300.00 (it was _definitely_ a lot more) out of his pocket and they'd all be hunky dory.

If that were the case, they would have done it a long time ago. "But knowing him, he'd probably forgotten he'd had the money in the first place." She told herself.

"What money? What do I need it for now?" A voice asked her from her left. The sound was unmistakeable.

"The five hundred you still owe UHaul for bringing your stuff here when you moved. They're beginning to think about words like "Arrest" and "Prison."

The boy in the windowsill stared at her irritated for a moment's worth. "What?! I don't owe this IHaul, UHaul, whatever, anything! We carried packs, too."

Akane rolled her eyes at that statement. "I know, stupid. I was there."

Ranma seemed confused for a moment. "Really? I didn't see you there. All I saw was a man, his two daughters, and a rabid mangy raccoon."

She was about to growl something back and fling him into the stratosphere when she heard Kasumi say something from in the hall.

"I forgot to tell you guys this. You have to go up to the pharmacy to get a flu vaccine today. Everyone will be going at a different time." She told them in her trademark soft voice, and then she left without another word to go and get whatever was needed.

They stared at each other for a moment in question.

"Flu vaccine? I didn't even know there was a bug in the first place." Akane wondered aloud.

"I didn't even know we had a pharmacy in the first place." Ranma told her.

"We didn't." A dark voice spoke from the doorway. Both looked over to see Akane's older sister Nabiki standing there, now leaning against the door frame with a bored and somewhat slightly angered expression.

"Just today they had set up a couple a white tents there like they were camping the night out in the middle of town. I was up to check it out just a few minutes ago. Heard that they're America." She informed the two, nodding her head in the direction of the west. Her voice was unusually scratchy and dark-toned.

"Why would doctors from that big-shot country come to give us vaccinations?" Ranma asked, puzzled yet a bit interested.

"Heh. I don't know." She replied, rolling her eyes a bit and staring with a bored expression at the doorframe.

"But they were also down at the Neko Hanten earlier scoping for Mousse. This time they were a few men dressed in black sporting these badges and a photo.

Something about laboratories, viruses, R.O.M.A, you know. Stuff we never heard about and never would have if they hadn't come." Nabiki scoffed after her announcement, a slight tinge of annoyance, bordering on anger.

"What would government officials want with Mousse? What did he do to get America on his tail?" Ranma asked, his interest of the case sky rocketed.

"They're still in Nerima. Just down at the White Tents at the town square. A block away from the fountain. The flu shots are in the White Tents, and the black suited people are in the tent with the Science Lab label on it." And so, Nabiki left without saying anything further.

"So let me get this straight," Ranma began, trying to put everything in a short sentence, "There are people downtown who are giving out a vaccination to a flu that's spreading and killing over 50,000 people. But; but! there are also, Men In Black who are looking for Mousse, because he did something to greatly upset the American government society?"

He seemed confused and doubtful the more he spoke, but it was a good depiction of it.

"How about we go now and see for ourselves, and find out what all of this is about." Akane sighed, getting up from her bed and walking over to a closet to dress.

* * *

"What? Cat Cafe?" Preston asked, in a stupor about the choice of names.

"Do they sell fried cat there? Cat on a stick?" He joked, although nearly nobody was laughing.

Emily looked at Xion gravely. "Is this true? Is what you're saying really true?" She asks him with worry and anxiousness marinating her past-mature voice.

"Yes. Every word I say is right, in the name of the secrecy of R.O.M.A's 3rd floor." Xion tells her.

Emilio interrupted the two's small chat. "What else do you know about this person? You too, Emily." He told the both of them.

Xion glanced over at Emily, who waved her hand at him, as if saying "You go first".

He took a deep breath and fetched up whatever thoughts he had remembered of this person.

"Well," Xion began, his voice unsure of what he was really saying. "I believe that the cafe is in a small Japanese town called Nerima."

"Ner-ma-what?" Preston repeated, confused at the name of the town. "Kinda sound's like Nermal, Garfield's little kitten friend. And thermal."

Xion slightly regarded his friend with a baleful stare, but went back to telling Emilio and Emily about this guy that he had seen.

"I saw him on the news once. Well, maybe it wasn't the news. It was something my old friend who visited Japan, Ben, sent to me as a tape."

Emilio cut him off. "Do you still have the recording?" He asks him expectantly. Xion nods.

"That's good. I need you to bring it in so we can see what the town looks like and what #,..." He picks up the paper and reads the label, "#178 looks like now." Emilio waved to somebody to get him a seat, a black and grey office chair, and sat down after it was retrieved.

"Do you remember anything more?" Emily began, getting a bit impatient.

Xion thought deeper. What came up did not have much use to his boss and the Captain of 2nd level R.O.M.A.

What he had come up with was his name, (Kind of. Marvin?) slightly what he looks like and so on.

"Get on with it, kid! We don't have all day!" Emilio snapped at him, making him reel back a little.

"The rest can be explained in the video. To you Emily?" He addressed her, and she stood up.

"What I tell you now, is very important, and needs to be tended to immidiately. He is the only one holding the antibody to the contagion, and one of the very few leads we can resort to."

Emilio nods and for once, Preston doesn't talk.

"We have to get him back to the lab at once, before something happens to the only human being on earth that can't succumb to the virus."

Emily concluded her speech with asking Xion to get the tape right away. He had no objection with that.

Preston volunteered to go with him.

* * *

As soon as they were back on the road, Preston began to break the ice with a short sentence. "What does he look like?"

At first, Xion didn't hear him, but after Preston repeated himself, he gave an answer.

"I forgot. When we watch the tape, you'll see. I know his name, where he lives, and where the video was taped. Even how and why."

His partner riding shotgun stared at him for a moment, before asking his second question.

"How did you find that out?" Preston asked his friend, who had just pulled up in the driveway of his home.

"It says in the video." Xion simply answered. Not another word was said as they went inside, gathered the tape and went back to R.O.M.A, but there were thoughts abundant.

'I wonder what made Emily have that dream? Of course you would have a few nightmares after being in 3rd level P4, but not like hers. What was it like? A small boy who is now older in the vid that my buddy Xion's holding, and he was talking to this old woman who was in one of the other cages near him. And apparently, the security was like shit back then, and both of them escaped, making Emily resign into being one of the head scientists in 2nd level. Was that about right? And now that same young boy is about 16 or 17 and is in Japan.'

Preston rested his chin on his hand. How could something like that happen? And how did he get from western America all the way to Japan, nearly all the way across the world? Such a long destination.

Preston himself would have just moved to Mexico as a immigrant and start all over as a guy named Paco Taquito and become a carpet salesman. But it didn't seem like the same thing was on this guy's mind at the time.

He'd just find out when they watch the video.

'It's been a very long time since i've watched this video. But I still know that the resolution was great for a portable recorder/camera. Ben sure knew how to shoot films.'

Maybe that was why he had that career.

Xion rubbed the case in his hand over and over again, thinking about what his friend was doing right now, and if he should text to him that they were going to watch that movie he shot in Japan about the small street fight that ended up looking like the event of the year.

Xion had seen a fair amount of street fights, and this was certainly not the ones he had seen while going and coming back to and from work.

Those in his hometown had beaten each other nearly to death. He had stopped to watch one time, hoping not to get caught as a bystander. He knew the consequences, so he just stood off to the side out of everyone's sight.

* * *

_They were all crowded around two men, who were in the middle of a paint marked ring._

_As if on cue, the two charged at each other, the bigger one grabbing at the smaller one's shoulder with one hand and his throat with the other._

_The smaller one was choked as he kicked out at the other one feebly. The Bigger one was cutting his throat, thick slimy blood oozing from in between his fingers, the foul odor wafting over to the crowd and reaching a disgusted Xion._

_Finally, he thrashed himself loose and dug his nails into the other one's flesh, drawing blood, but not as much as he had lost himself. A large, blood soaked angry gash, wet flesh mangled in a repulsive way was on his terribly wounded neck._

_The larger fighter had the upper hand, and it seemed that the crowd knew it. They were gathering around one of the people who was standing on a wooden food crate, calling out some things that he couldn't understand._

_Xion stared back at the crowd. Things were getting a bit more violent by the minute._

_The bigger one had raked open the Smaller One's neck with just his nails, and punched him in the face, making him stagger and the people in the crowd change their bets._

_Xion could see that the Smaller One's face was nearly completely painted in his own blood, and he saw something white, glinting in the only sunlight in the back ally. A bone was showing._

_The Smaller One got up and growled like a wild animal at the Bigger One, who snarled back. He was beginning to froth at the mouth._

_Once again they charged each other, but the Bigger One doing a different attack that last time._

_He picked the Smaller one up and smashed him onto the ground head first. Xion winced as a clearly audible, disgusting splitting noise ripped through the air followed by a loud scream of fear and agony. It was like a watermelon that was thrown at the ground and it split open, all of it's contents spilling out in a wet, juicy heap._

_He dared to look back but he wished that he hadn't. The smaller one's head was cracked wide open, he could see a soft, gloppy deep purple mass flowing out the side of his head, his brain, the person laying on the ground in a helpless heap._

_The other one began to kick him, making the Smaller One curl up in a ball. Soon, sticky blood coated the Bigger Ones boots. A stomach churning popping noise exploded from inside of the circle and the crowd shuffled uncomfortably._

_The Smaller one's stomach had burst from the pressure and blood splattered nearly everything, peppering everything from the bystander's pants and shirts, to his opponent's. One of The Smaller One's ribs was protruding from it's back in a gruesome way. His eyes glazed over, gazing out but not seeing. He was dead. This Bigger One had murdered the Smaller One in this blood sport just to tell that he was stronger._

_Xion watched, feeling very nauseous, as the Bigger One easily crushed the a few more of the smaller one's ribs and possibly his spine easily as he rested a forceful leg on him and spat down at his victim._

_Money was tossed around, and the limp, dead body was dragged out of the ring as another set were put in._

* * *

Xion shook his head free of the dreadful thought as they rode up past the gates of R.O.M.A.

As soon as they got inside, they found Emilio and Emily waiting for them by the elevator. They had also a few other people dressed in black with them.

Those had made both Xion and Preston a bit uncomfortable. Right off, they knew both of them were government agents.

Their worst fear was if they found out about 3rd floor.

Just a few minutes later, they were all escorted back to the room in 2nd floor, watching the tape.

"Which one is he?" Emilio asked Xion for everyone else. Xion compared both of the fighters from the child in the photo.

He gently pressed the "Pause" button on the remote he was holding and pointed to one of them.

All of the people in the room studied the person and one of he men in black suits began to draw a portrait of him.

"Him. He's the one. Right, Emily?" Xion looked over toward her, and she nodded, sweat beading on her forehead. Emily shivered, and sensed something just then.

'What if all we are doing is just a big mistake? Why do I feel so terrible?' She thought. She quickly shook it off but was chilled again.

Emilio glanced toward her slightly concerned. She just nodded toward him in a reassuring way and looked back at the one that Xion had pointed to.

#178 in Japan was the one with the long black hair, wearing white. Xion was surprised at how he'd wear that same color after what he had experienced.

In the photo, he had a large trace of a deep and gruesome incision in his skull from a possible brain surgery that was poorly patched up by a cut of pale green cloth. Tape surrounded the tarp, blood seemed to melt through it. Shiny, clear jell, like thin wet cellophane coated it and dampened the cloth and the side of his head. His hand was covered in blood. Probably from touching the small tarp.

He looked up at the camera with a pitifully sad look, sick and pained.

And now he was wearing a coat or something that could be a dead ringer at a glance for the ones who had put him through hell.

'Why?' Xion wondered, but left it alone after that. He took a screencap and printed it, talking more to the visitors, and they told them what they were going to do.

They said that they'd bring fake vaccinations and give them out to the people in the town. While they are there, they could look for this person and get a blood sample and convert that and a few other things into the real vaccine.

But unknown to the agents, R.O.M.A had different plans set up for him. Oh, they would be much different.

* * *

Did you like that one? It was longer to make up for the time, and things are beginning to get a bit clearer now. Tell me in a review if you have figured it out or not, liked it or hated it. It doesn't matter, as long as I get feedback from those who read this. It seems nice to know that people are actually reading this, and at least giving this thing a try.


	4. Rise and Fall of Louis Family

This new chapter will have a bit more into it than the last few. But it will be about something different. Just to clear it up, we'll we looking into something else that's happening now, and with a different person. This part does not seem like it fits in this fanfic, but it will make sense soon enough.

SLAVE ROMA

BOOK 1: THE ABDUCTION

When he had moved to the quiet, rural town in Western America, he was lead to believe that it was a safe, outdoorsy place; not a lot of traffic, no sirens, no crime, and nearly no television.

He had once lived in one of the many busy cities; the same one where he had met his wife.

They were young then, just getting out of high school for the summer; carefree children straying into the open world, doing things that normal people would on these hot mid-year months that came to last.

Where they had met was at a crowded public swimming pool, Louis having been there because of a meeting set up by a few of his old schoolmates.

They were gathering people about half after noon to play a small game out of fun, and maybe the fact that the refreshing coolness in the boiling heat of the sun made them think back to a different time in the past.

He had seen her while hiding in a place by a ladder underwater from one of the teammates on the opposing "REDTeam", scoping for him and the other BLUEPlayers who were seeking a safe refuge.

She was floating at the floor of the pool, gripping the wall, a smirk on her face and a glance up at the waving, bouncy surface of water, the sun glinting off of the cool, blue, and seemingly thin and fragile liquid like bright, glowing figure, warm and soft to the touch.

Glancing to her left, she had caught his friendly gaze and put her finger to her lips in a "be quiet" signal, before motioning up to the side of the pool with a jerk of her head, her deep crimson hair dancing in the water like bleeding flame.

He smiled back up at her, getting the fact the she was on BLUETeam, and signaled to himself as saying, "Hey, me too!" He had actually seen her a couple times when the team had scattered moments before.

She smiled back and made a "follow me" signal, and her head broke the surface, shaking the pool water from her hair before glancing around and climbing out quietly, whispering in a hushed voice, "Come on! I know a good place."

He nodded politely and took off after this stranger, the only thing going through his mind being a good hiding place to stay until the game was over, or one of the Teams had succeeded in grasping victory.

At one point she had stopped, and after scanning the pool area for other players, she pointed over at a large section of the water, before telling him that they could hide among the swimmers running amok until the game was won by another player.

They had actually waited there for about fifteen minutes, telling each others' names and getting to know each other. They did not win that day, however, since they were in their world of "nice weather" and "now that school's over, what do we do now?", that they did not notice a REDPlayer in the same waters.

After a few more rounds of this, they had agreed to meet a few days later at an old coffee shop downtown.

These "meet-ups" became more and more often, soon become full scale dates, about two years later becoming a couple in marriage.

They had lived in the city, the place they knew for so long, but their thoughts of staying began to waver when the crime rates began to rise.

Murders, break-ins, fires, all so much that needed to be left behind as they took to the deep countryside for a safer life.

That was why Louis King, his wife, dog, and young daughter had left their old rented apartment room in Philidelphia; and had moved to an old, large, grey house by a road that ran right through the thousands of acres of woods nearby.

* * *

When he had seen it online, he was told that a few years before the old owners had left, they had had it insulated and new windows and doors installed. Fresh paint layered the outside of the house and gates, garden in front and in the yard in cute, circular patterns.

A dog house with the word "Fido" was resting out back; Louis could just barely see it.

The first day they had come they had felt a sense of security, but all of that was lost when Louis opened up the morning paper that was left by his doorstep in the morning.

The bold, black, ink screamed out at him the moment he lay his eyes on the picture. That article was instantly the first and only one he'd look at that morning.

The family sitting room became eerily quiet, save for the small string of coffee pouring into a cup in the kitchen, and the heat traveling through the house. (It made noise sometimes. You could never tell unless you were really quiet.) He didn't even hear his daughter come down the stairs and get herself breakfast.

Yup, all that sense of safety and security just vanished when he began to read.

-YOUNG BOY ABDUCTED AND DISEMBOWELED, BODY FOUND FEW MILES FROM HOME-

It was true. He knew this from how he had seen at least eight similar passages in the daily in the past few weeks. A man going into houses and kidnapping children, killing them where the police can find the body. Not a trace of the killer left behind, other than the blood and the body.

"What're you reading, Daddy?" His young daughter, Marie asked, breaking him from his reverie.

The name was originally spelled "Maahrei", and he liked to say it that way, but his wife insisted on calling her Marie.

He quickly shielded the horrifying headlines from her and replied with "Oh, nothing". That seemed to make her wonder a bit, but she shrugged it off a few minutes later and began to take a seat and eat.

He set the paper slowly back up and began to read.

* * *

Part of it had read,

'Investigators say that the boy's parents, names censored for the privacy of the family, had woken up in the morning after they heard something in the boy's room, and went to check on him. They came in only to realize that he wasn't there.'

"We looked all around for him, until thinking that he'd gone out. We checked all around the house, we even let the family great dane, Ruth, outside." The boy's mother had told RFN* News.

They soon went inside after two hours of searching and filed a missing child report at about five AM. The police came, and shortly after, they heard the family dog barking frantically.

The two-year-old blue merle great dane dog, Ruth, had caught the boy's scent and was heading into the woods. The boy's parents and the police ran in after the dog. The group pursued the dog until it stopped. From a distance, they saw Ruth pawing at the ground and circling, whimpering and baying. Her tail was in between her legs.

Both parents were told to stay behind while the police check it out, and were shocked at the sight before them. Ruth was howling and whimpering at the slaughtered dead body of the couple's missing son.

They had called over investigation, FBI, and the parents called relatives. The dog was shut in the shed for an hour, and given away to relatives two days later.

Continued on the page A4.

* * *

His wife was hanging over his shoulder by now, and Maahrei had left the room to watch Zatch Bell! in the sitting area. He could hear the main character calling out a "spell". Since she was fully engrossed in her show, he had begun to drop his guard, letting his words escape him, and the picture drop to the table.

The headline picture was of the dead child. Louis and his wife had wondered about how the hell they got the picture in the paper, the gore amount was incredible.

He was laying face-up on the ground, his limbs twisted brutally in awkward ways. His cloths were shredded and what seemed like gallons of fresh crimson blood, the child's own, clotted around the torn parts.

He could see stab wounds, and some parts where it looked like the killer had used a rotating blade on him; the flesh was ripped and torn, many thin, long, shreds still hanging on. Bits of it were clinging to his shirt, and some dotted the ground.

His mouth and eyes were wide open, it made it looked like the boy was shocked even after his death.

Drool had flown out of his mouth and made a fading, white track down his cheek. His mouth was dry, yet overflowing with blood. He cried the sticky, red, liquid as well, glazed, grey eyes gazing out at the world, but not seeing anything.

"Well, i'll be god damned." Louis whispered softly to himself. "Darned. God Darned." He corrected. He and his wife had made an oath not to swear in the house after Maahrei had come into their lives.

Although this seemed like the perfect time to do it, he covered up his profanity for the sake of this boy's family. It was good to show just a little respect. After all this place was one of their neighboring towns... wait a minute...

His throat went dryer than a desert in summer, and out of human habit, began to reach for his glass of coffee set on the table by his wife.

This killing had happened in a town near his. And at least 7 others as well. They were all young children.

It was the reason Maahrei was watching Zatch Bell! instead of going outside like she would do. Just yesterday, there was another killing like this, but in a town a little further away. And the day before that was the same. And the day before that, and the day before that.

His wife had suggested moving to stay out of the path of this crazed killer, but Louis protested against it. They did not have enough time to do that. It would take days to pack up, find the right home, and leave. Not to mention selling the house and finding a buyer who would take it.

Getting prepared was the nightmare about moving, as well as getting the money to do it. To be honest, Louis and his family weren't the richest people in their little town.

What frightened him was that he thought that his wife was calculating the movement of the killer, trying to find out if -or when- he'd be coming to their town. Louis had his doubts, but when she began something much like that, it was hard to get her out.

Louis closed up the paper and set it on the table. Only to have it snatched up by his wife a few minutes later. No longer in the mood for coffee, he just got up and put it in the dog's water bowl.

The large mottled beast was given to them by his cousin. Maahrei insisted that they call him Amaroq, which was a giant wolf she's heard about. And Amaroq was bigger than any wolf that he'd ever seen.

He was a large mix, with a coat like a calico cat's, long silky fur that reflected warm sunlight, shining, friendly eyes and a wet nose.

He began to lap up the coffee with much delight, looking up with happy gaze at Louis, and then going out for his morning stroll through the dog flap door.

Louis watched as the dog trotted around, chased after a few birds, and lay in the sun, shimmering wet morning dew gathering in his big, heavy coat, maybe swatting at the passing fly, or looking for a plane in the blue sky ahead.

He thought about how dogs didn't have to worry about killers, they didn't have to plan out things, or worry about moving. Dogs were dogs. Sometimes Louis wished he were a dog, like ole Amaroq over there. His wife would be sitting next to him in the grass, staring out at the passing robin.

Maahrei would be a young puppy, hopping and sprinting around in the grass, chasing a field mouse or a grasshopper. Louis himself would be laying in the long lush green clover, that and his coat being ruffled by the light summer wind.

His head would rest peacefully on the ground, and he'd let out a sigh, knowing that everything was going to be alright. But Louis was not a dog. Neither was any part of his family, except Amaroq. Only the dogs would be dogs.

But right now, they were humans. And they would remain humans. And things were not going as good as they should, and would, if they were a dog.

The killer was still prowling, and he knew that in a matter of days, he would come to THEIR town. He had just had a gut feeling. One that no medicine could cure.

Louis began thinking very strange, violent and sadistic thoughts then, out of the panic that had built up in his chest.

'Oh, please. Oh, PLEASE let the man go to another house and take somebody else's kid. Don't let him take my Maahrei! Let him go to somebody else's house and kidnap their kid and cut them open. Maybe let him EAT them, I don't care! Just don't take my Maahrei!' Louis begged to the heavens in his thoughts.

Then he thought something else.

'If-no, WHEN the man comes to our place, i'll sic Amaroq on him. Then! Y-yes, then, i'll grab my gun from the back room; yeeees, the same gun I used to take down a fat buck just last hunting season, one bullet was all it took, and kill the man. I'll kill him before he kills us.' Louis thought these strange and horrid, vivid scenes while staring out the kitchen window at the dog, laying in the grass.

His fingers hooked tightly around the handle of his mug, his knuckles turning white and a smile beginning to appear on his face, eyelid twitching.

'If we were just dogs.' Louis thought, laughing a little.

"What am I going to do?" That sentence repeated in his mind like a broken record player.

The dream of being dogs was over. The thought of being human, was not. He went to the back room, and past Maahrei, who was now watching her old tape of The Lion King, past his wife who was down the cellar planning out things and tacking the headline of the paper onto a board she kept down there.

He went all the way to the room at the back of the house, the one that served as a guest bedroom, if they had any guests. Many of them couldn't find their house, it was so far away.

He went to the back of the orange and yellow painted room, the same one he planned on repainting about a month later, and opened a closet that just hung open there idly. The door was ajar, breathing out the smell of old cloths, dust, and rotting cardboard boxes stacked in there from long ago, some left there by the person who sold them the house.

He dove in right away, awakening the large clouds of dust that had accumulated over the time, shaking around the old coats on the rack and maybe tipping over a few boxes.

Eventually, he found what he was looking for. That thing being his old hunting rifle. After picking it up and setting in on the queen sized bed, he went back into the closet.

Shoving aside the things in the middle, he placed one thick, sturdy plastic tub filled with many items, some he did not bother to try and guess, in the middle.

He placed his right foot on the bin, watching it carefully, making sure that it didn't implode on him. Much to his surprise, the box didn't even shudder. He rested his full weight on the box and climbed up onto it, and began looking up at the shelf above him.

That place was much easier to reach, now that he was standing on a good rest. His hand began to search again.

Each time he set his hand down, and after picking it up again, it left a large dusty print. The grey, powdery gathering was uplifted my Louis' roaming hands, and would soon settle somewhere else in the room.

The things that Louis had set his hand on, but had taken off after finding that it, and wasn't the thing that he was looking for, were of many.

A few of them were lost little statues that had been tossed up there years ago when they moved to that large house.

Some of them were aging newspapers, pens, a few coins, shriveled up, yellowing receipts from past trips to the nearest supermarket, twisted paper clips, bottle caps, buttons, and a couple of Maahrei's ripped and broken toys that she'd forgotten about.

Finally his hand rested on something that he was looking for; a small box that had been placed up there last fall season.

That box was filled with the leftover bullets that Louis had put up there earlier. He had never thought that he'd fetch them up for something like a child killer.

A bear, maybe. He'd heard of bears around here, so he didn't let Maahrei out too far.

He'd never thought that he'd be going hunting for people. A man who had killed many children, at that.

He never knew that he would go to these measures to protect his family. Heck, if Amaroq were the last of his family, he would still do what he was doing now.

Loading his gun, and saying to himself that he would have Maahrei and Amaroq sleep in their room that night. Amaroq would bark if the man came in. It was hard to miss that loud, chopping scream of the dog.

Those thoughts reassured him as he grabbed the gun and the box of bullets and went up the long, steep flight of stairs to his wife and his' bedroom.

* * *

She stared up at the board with a thoughtful expression on her face. Seven scraps of paper, each from the morning newspaper, were tacked up on the board that she had set up in the family basement.

They called it that, but now she had restricted it to only her being aloud to go in there.

Other than the bulletin board being in the room, there was a stack of cut newspapers sitting on an antique desk nearby.

Earlier, Louis had fixed up the old thing after they found it at a yard sale about two towns over.

It was polished a mahogany color, one that she liked. It originally kept a vase full of flowers on it, and that was now on a counter on the wall made out of a scrap of wood.

The walls were concrete, many cracks ran through them, and air drafted almost constantly. (That was why they kept the door to the basement shut nearly all of the time.)

In spring, like right now, water sometimes leaked through, pooling in reflective puddles on the floor.

She was standing in one now, actually.

There were quite a few boxes in the basement, some the result of being too lazy to unpack the rest of their things, and the others were from holidays that they had in the year.

She was going to be bringing one up soon, but didn't think of that much. The reason was on the board in front of her, the same one that she was staring at.

What was tacked onto the board were a bunch of clips cut from the morning paper. There were seven of them on there. Behind this, there was a large map of the county, and other counties surrounding it.

Some would have found it strange, what she did, but she couldn't care less. She was keeping track of things, and being prepared, just like a mother, wife, and dog-owner should be.

What was tacked on the board, were the headlines from each morning newspaper, and maybe a few more articles on the same subject. And that subject was the killings of young youth in towns that were near her own.

Each scrap had to do with the brutal murders, and she had placed each one neatly in it's own spot. The latest one, the young boy and the Ruth Dog, had been to the far right.

The whole thing was like a map. Maybe it once was, in another life, at another time.

First, there was that town that was about two hours away from where they were currently. That was where the first murder happened. The clip about that from the paper was placed directly on the marker.

The second murder was a bit more to the right, but not far. Another cut from the paper was placed here. These things went on until the latest one. The thing that stood out from the whole board, was that from the first to latest killing, the papers made a sort of track, one that lead all the way to the town just before hers.

And maybe soon, if she lived to do this, her town would be on there too. She just hoped she would never see her child on that board.

But a sinister thought kept coming back and plaguing her mind.

The thought that he will come, and that he will come for THE GIRL. He will sneak up into the house, quiet as a cat, stalking through the night, it's watchful yellow eyes seeing everything.

It will sneak in just as silent as it could be. It would come in, and it would snatch up her child from the bed she was sleeping in, ever so safe no more, little girl!

He will carry her off into the woods, and that is where he will kill her. That is where she would die a brutal, and hellish death and nobody can hear her screams.

The woman in the basement had thought that idea quite a bit, and it scared her. What kind of made her sickened was that she was afraid it would come back for her. Or maybe her family!

If they were dead, then she would be alone. Not even the dog, he'd be dead too.

She shook the thought out of her mind once again and went back to the board. They HAD to be prepared. According to her list, their house was the next in line.

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead as she hugged her arms together. Her heart beat faster than she had ever felt it. It kind of reminded her of a speeding locomotive, rushing down the set out tracks in the forest, not coming to a stop where it reached it's destination; for her, that meant, probably, death.

"Hopefully it would not come to that." She said to herself as she heard someone going up the stairs.

But the voice came back again. And it talked. Boy, did it talk.

Irony. You know that word, kids? You know, the one that you've heard people say over the years, and maybe have used it once or twice yourselves to try it out?

Well, that was what you could use to describe what had happened the the King family.

It's called irony kids, you better believe it.

To hear the whole story, press 8. Sure, the man at the phone would say, (that's you) and would go ahead, look for the button, and press it.

People, those who can be manipulated so easily. And those who can be like putty in a person's hands if they don't mature.

This, my good friends, the story I am about to tell you, would give you and example of how the human can act.

Remember how the family was preparing? How Louis got his gun and his wife got the map? And here it comes again... irony.

Because what do you know, the next morning, do you know what happened? You bet. HE came for a little visit.

And they died. Did I say they? I have let on too much.

Might as well say this short note; young Maahrei was taken and killed. The mother went into a state of bad depression.

Soon she was taking all kinds of medication, might I add that they were provided by a certain hot-shot lab from Arizona.

Soon she had begun thinking crazy, insane, thoughts.

She left the dog unattended without food or water, more often leaving the house without putting it outside.

Sometimes the water was left running, and the lights left on. Doors were swinging open with the winds and dirty dishes stacked.

She lay in her bed for most of the time, until finally, she had gone to rest for her final time.

The body was found laying in the twin bed, a spilled bottle of white pills scattered around the floor, and sheets uneven.

And what came after was the domino effect. It pretty much killed Louis, the family, and even seemed to take effect on his whole house.

The dog ended up a bit more passive than usual, and soon the two never came out of the house. Until that late afternoon, a very foggy day.

Ole Lou came out of the house, but he was not alone. He had that large Amaroq dog with him, tied to a thick brown leather leash.

Both the man and his beast walking deep into the thick fog of the late afternoon, bordering on night.

And they kept walking. Where they had stopped, was the dam. The large dam at the edge of the town.

He looked down into the water with tired, pained eyes, and back at his dog. Dropping the leash to the ground, he let the dark, ugly part of his mind take over his actions. The demon in his head taking him up and over the thick, yet short wall and over the edge, plummeting into the rushing water.

The dog stay there for a moment, before running off into the vast forest, it's leash trailing behind it.

The dog wandered into the wild woods of the town and became feral, and aggressive. More like the wolf he was named for. The man's body was never found, but you could just say that It collected with the other bodies of his lost family, and all the children before them.

The wife got her wish; she never saw the paper of which they died in tacked upon her board.

The man never got his perfect peaceful lifetime he always wanted.

I can't say about the others, but here is what I can say.

Irony kids, you better believe it.

* * *

Yeah, this is a bit more domestic than the other chapters that i've done. I thought that the gore should be tones down a little, and there will be more of a "natural" chapter next.

Just to tell, I had partway based the house setting on my own house, we got new doors, windows, and insulation. But that's not really important. By the way, Ranma's coming back in the next chapter, and more about the tents. New, but Takahashi characters will come in the next chapter, "Welcome Back!" Hopefully, I can get that written, edited, and revised (a lot) in time for this not to be ancient.


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